


peas & carrots

by apple_solutely



Series: Peas and Carrots [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Anal Fingering, Bad Puns, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Richie Tozier, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Takes Care of Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak's Birthday, Emotional Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, Famous Eddie Kaspbrak, Forrest Gump References, Grocery Shopping, Halloween, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter References, I keep forgetting tags so this is me constantly coming back and adding them, Insecure Eddie Kaspbrak, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pop Culture References because I am incapable of not including such elements in my writing, Posessive Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Takes Care of Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier cries a lot, Richie and Eddie figure shit out together because we love an openly communicative relationship, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Twin Peaks References, sentimental saps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_solutely/pseuds/apple_solutely
Summary: Featuring the domestic life of Richie Tozier and his amputee boyfriend, Eddie Kaspbrak, living in the suburbs of California.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Peas and Carrots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066727
Comments: 32
Kudos: 171





	peas & carrots

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this fic is basically plotless fun and was supposed to be 5000 words less than what it is now, but I kind of got carried away. It's pretty lighthearted and a tad bit emotional because they're figuring some shit out, and I'm also a sappy writer. The 'plot' follows brief moments from their life during the span of a week. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy
> 
> [Edit: So, my irl friend was recently reading this and she was lost about the Hamburger Helper joke. I forgot people actually don't know what it is, so please search it up because I was in tears laughing while explaining it to her. Spoiler alert: it's basically pasta.]

For half of Richie’s life, he’s lived in a quiet neighborhood in Derry where nobody ever really turns to bid a warm ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’, so when he does pack his belongings and move to Los Angeles after high school graduation, there hadn’t been a stark change. But whereas L.A. had been bustling with countless events, parties, streets crowded with people and cars and buses, Derry had been the opposite. Derry brought the incessantly loud chirping of crickets and sticky heat that clung in the form of cold droplets on his pasty skin. The silence in Derry was deafening. Eery for reasons that didn’t include space clowns and the personifications of fear itself. 

Living in the suburban hills of California, however, can only be described as _ different _ if Richie puts it mundanely. The atmosphere isn’t clouded with anxiety. The crickets don’t chirp so loud and there are no expectations for Richie out here, in the middle of practically nowhere. Instead, the stars shine like spotlights and the faint rustle of hot or cold wind depending on the weather is a welcome breath of fresh air.

When they first moved in, their neighbors had all come bearing house-warming gifts. Plants, decoration pieces, and home-cooked meals—a tradition that still kept since Dee, a nice older woman with six children and nine grandchildren, stopped by to hand them her pot roast like clockwork every two weeks. Plus, she invites him inside every time he helps her with groceries, pointing at the thousand framed pictures on her walls. Dee ran her mouth as fast as Eddie and Richie did, and could spin a story better than any weaver. 

Richie can say he likes it here. 

He could bask in the sunlight in their backyard, watching Eddie tan in the afternoon and tend to their garden while Richie rambles on and on in the background about a random awkward situation from the past he can’t forget. Or he could go out front and watch Eddie tend to his car in their garage instead. He wears a jumpsuit sometimes or if Richie’s lucky, Eddie works bare-chested with sweatpants or tiny shorts. It’s obscene the way his legs and torso flex the way they do—tight like they could snap Richie in half. And Richie has first-hand experience to confidently declare Eddie absolutely can. Usually, their rendezvous come back to bite Richie in the ass, having to spend the next day in bed, begging Eddie to massage his back because not everyone did yoga like Eddie, and could bend their bodies in inhumane positions. 

But Eddie is stubbornly ruthless and can do anything he sets his mind to. It’s one of the qualities Richie wishes he had himself since Eddie wears it so well. In fact, he admits half of his bravery comes from him in the first place. 

Eddie had to have his right arm surgically removed after a day in the E.R. when the doctors discovered his pectoralis muscles and humerus were completely skewered like minced meat. They had said it was practically impossible to fix and if they didn’t make a decision then and there, it could possibly inflate more issues. Richie had been too weak, sleep-deprived, and hyper-active on living off of vending machine coffee to even process it all. But Eddie was a soldier. 

In the grand scheme of things, Richie believes not much has changed. Eddie still goes on about his life, as usual, not allowing his tragedy to become a disability. And sure, perhaps daily chores might take longer than usual, but in the end, he completes them. Always. Even if Richie had insisted on doing all the work in the beginning, he had put his foot down early on. 

Eddie  _ will not be coddled _ and Richie knew well enough to steer clear. Besides. There are other methods of helping out. Richie had held his hand in the hospital room, grip attached firmly as he asks him to move in with him. Eddie said yes without a second thought. 

It started as a spur of the moment decision at first and resulted in quiet acceptance as Eddie nor Richie brought up their living situation even as a year and a half had passed. They'd only just made their relationship official a few weeks back after a long and torturous turtle’s pace. Plenty of melodrama and frustrating fights ensued in order to get here. But Richie didn’t assume their relationship would start smoothly in the first place.

And he learned to sit in the moment, and really savor their bad times as much the good times because, for the first time in his life, he wants to. No relationship is easy and Richie will put his all in order to be patient for Eddie to battle his demons himself.

At first, the doctors had informed Eddie he would be unable to live alone due to constant attention and care. Richie took upon the responsibility. He would have his arms around him to help as Eddie put one foot over the other, allow him to lean on his larger form when it got too much, and carry him from his wheelchair to the seat of the car or his bed. Gradually, these sorts of touches disappeared when his ligaments had healed and Eddie could walk on his own. 

But depression is the chill of winter settling in Eddie’s bones, trapping him in a state of numb emptiness. The doctors said it would be normal and expected for Eddie to feel self-conscious about the loss of his limb—that the phantom pains and anxiety will linger for an estimate of months to years depending on his progress in therapy. Richie supposes he's doing much better than how he was over a year ago, lying in his ( _ coffin _ , Richie insists) bed, and spoke about a sentence each day. 

A groan from Eddie’s form directs Richie into the present. The sound is urgent for attention and Richie smiles because of course even in his sleep, Eddie needs him. And there’s not a bone in his body that would complain about his greediness. To be wanted is a sensation foreign as well as pleasant for a change since he's generally rather reserved awake or sober. 

They had gone to sleep with Eddie glued to his back, hand possessively resting on the stomach spilling below, softening dick at the cleft of Richie’s ass. He twitches at the memory of the previous night, as he stirs awake to catch Eddie curled up in a trademark fetus position, hand openly reaching for Richie’s limbs. Eddie denies it but he makes quite a noisy sleeper, with or without nightmares, yet Richie is unbothered for he sleeps like a corpse ( _ you’re already so fucking pale, you might as well be one _ , Eddie had grumbled). 

Richie tugs off the blanket and cold air slams upon his naked body, causing his body hair to fuzz up—piloerection, his brain helpfully supplied. He only remembers the term because of obvious and childish reasons. Eddie promptly shivers in his sleep and Richie pads slowly to his side to cover him with the blanket the way he likes, cocooned with just his face peeking out. He lowers to kiss Eddie’s freckled upper cheek, earning him a ghost of a smile. He smells like coconut and mint. 

Richie shuffles into their bathroom to proceed with his morning routine as he waits for Eddie to wake up—which might be a while since he isn’t exactly a morning person. Eddie needs a good meal and tea in his stomach before his rabid-inclined behavior diminishes. Usually, it’s eleven AM, like clockwork, when he genuinely relaxes, giving Richie his first smile of the day. It’s why their mornings are quiet and amusing. He doesn’t mind the silence and can rather focus on the gorgeous lines of Eddie’s face instead. 

Richie brushes his teeth, mouth tingling with Crest whitening toothpaste Eddie had insisted on buying, all the more encouraged at seeing the value pack offer. He’d slam-dunked two boxes in their shopping cart like it was nothing. With how Eddie behaved, no one would believe Richie’s the one who has a dentist for a father. 

He catches movement from the mirror behind to see Eddie (surprisingly) awake and rubbing his knuckles at his eyes.  _ Huh _ . 

He's wearing a shirt he stole from Richie that reads:  _ What’s Forrest Gump’s favorite type of pasta? Penne _ and the material drape his smaller frame as he drags himself into their shared bathroom. He can tell he’s not wearing any underwear even while the hem brushes down to the middle of his thighs. Richie smiles ear-to-ear, displaying foamy teeth. Eddie raises an un-impressed eyebrow but presses his palm to Richie’s bicep and kisses the flesh of his shoulder muscle. He leans into Eddie’s warmth, rolling back on his heels playfully before Eddie slips by his side, bracing him. 

“You sly fucker,” Richie says around the brush, “You think you can hide your weapon with my shirt?”

Eddie turns on the tap and sighs, “Can we please stop calling my dick a weapon?” 

Richie spits into the sink, “How must I when you're a shooter  _ and  _ a grower?” 

“You’re naked. It’s all your fault.” Eddie huffs, reaching for his toothbrush. 

This spurs Richie on, who wipes the excess paste from his mouth and grabs the brush and tube quicker than Eddie. 

(Expectedly) Eddie makes a face at him all the while Richie squirts toothpaste on his toothbrush for him. It’s routine. Six-hundred-and-fifty-six mornings in which Richie hands Eddie his toothbrush with a glass of water. Sometimes Eddie allows such small favors, but otherwise, Richie can tell when he’s stepping over a thick red line.

The first time Richie had helped him brush his teeth, he’d set aside a glass of water for Eddie to wash his mouth out with, and then ordered him to spit, to which Eddie had sarcastically replied,  _ Would’ve liked me to swallow instead? _ Richie had laughed and laughed after blinking at him with a fierce emotion of joy, a lightbulb switching on. He’d ended up on the floor, half-way about to piss his pants, brought to tears as it had been the first time Eddie had made a joke after his release from the prison cell of his hospital room. 

Eddie tracks a glance at Richie’s nudeness from the mirror.  _ Of course _ . And it has him bite his lip when he hears the bristles of Eddie’s brush scratch harsher on his teeth when Richie exits the bathroom with an extra sway of his hips.  _ Might as well give him a show _ . There are articles of clothes on their bedroom floor (Eddie despises this), so he gathers them up to throw them in the laundry basket behind the door, already filled to the brim from last week’s clothes. Richie stopped doing laundry after Eddie nearly bit his head off once when he accidentally mixed in the whites with the colored ones. Eddie gave him the cold shoulder for two days. 

Richie dawdles back into the bathroom, having changed into a white t-shirt under light blue overalls; an outfit they had bought a couple of days back on a self-indulgent shopping spree after receiving his paycheck. 

Eddie stops brushing, chomping down. Hard. 

Richie grins cheekily, smiling wider at Eddie’s glare combined with the apparent situation he has going on downstairs. His hair is unkempt and the passion in his eyes cease Richie’s pulse. A predator.

“No.” 

Richie’s face falls immediately into a pout with slumped shoulders. “ _ Eddie! _ ” He whines and Eddie (predictably) palms his groin at the high-pitched noise, “You promised we’d wear them together. That was the whole point of buying matching pairs!” 

“It’s grocery day! We’re going to end up on the front pages again!” Eddie dips out of the bathroom and into their dim hallway.

“So?” Richie follows him hot on his heels. They sprint towards the kitchen, entering the warmer room. 

Eddie spins around, incredulous, a hand on the dimple of his hip, “ _ So? _ We’re going to look like the gayest couple in existence.” 

“Honestly, I see no issue with that.” 

Eddie scoffs, searching the nearly empty fridge, “It’s a wonder you can  _ see _ at all.”

Richie inhales through his teeth, “Mmm, that one needs a bit of work, baby.” 

“No.” Eddie shuts the fridge to pluck Richie’s glasses off, frustrated, “They’re smudged because of your oily hands, dumbass.”

Richie blearily blinks at the blurry image of the absolute love of his life rubbing his glasses with the fabric of his shirt. Eddie bought him a microfiber cloth specially made for optical care but Richie seems to misplace it several times in a day and Eddie is much too impatient to look for it. But hell, he could swoon—collapse onto his knees at the sight of Eddie’s dick hanging out like this. 

Normally during summers, they’d discard clothes and it used to be the forbidden fruit—a test of Richie’s self-restraint before they became a couple. Now, Richie could simply ask Eddie to fuck him—actually, he wouldn’t even need to bother with such a thing—Eddie’s got a sixth sense for his urges. But this? This open comfort of walking around their house nude establishes that Eddie wants to and  _ can _ do this—whether there is an ulterior motive behind it or not. 

He hopes there is. 

“I have one hand, Richie, and still I can manage to clean your fucking glasses for you.” Eddie hands them back, carefully aligning them up the bridge of his nose, mouth twitched up. 

The world clears, perfectly depicting the map of freckles, dusting pink and coffee-colored on Eddie’s cheeks. His chest bursts at the beauty. Richie wants to gather him up into his arms— _ right now _ . He can tell his own expression is dopey as hell because Eddie rolls his eyes, smile jutting up at the corner. 

“Hi.” Richie breathes out. 

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

_ Eddie is in a pleasant mood today _ , Richie briefly thinks before all thoughts evaporate from his consciousness. 

Eddie cups his beard-cladded cheek to jerk him down harsher than the action of how he kisses him soft and slow like they have all the time in the world. His cheeks tingle at every brush Eddie’s beard scratches pink at his face. Richie thought with them both growing out their facial hair, it would cancel out. But he doesn’t mind the sting even though they would do better with a shave. Still, they were both paddling their canoes to the fucking Atlantic out here to distinguish themselves from their past. 

“Fuck—you should really put that away before you poke a hole into some poor fella.” Richie mumbles into Eddie’s mouth—who as usual, does the opposite of what Richie says and presses deeper against him, crotch hot on his inner thigh.

Eddie grabs a handful of his ass, making him yelp. God. He may have one hand but he fucking knows how to use it. He mouths on his plumper lips, tone dark, “There seems to be a hole right here.” 

Richie’s brain melts. He breaks into a delirious laugh, stomach in pain, “That was terrible and what’s even more terrible is that it did it for me.” He hiccups on a snort.

Eddie is unsure, “I don’t know...You’re a pretty easy lay, Rich.”

“Because it’s you, bub. You really rev that engine.” Richie winks.

Eddie groans and pulls away, “Erection gone. Thanks. Really needed that. I’m going to put on some pants.” And moves to rush out on his tiny legs. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Richie grins, hooking his hand on Eddie’s wrist, “Come back, I’ll be your good little boy.” 

Eddie is nonplussed. Richie loves it. “Please do not start with the ‘daddy’ thing. It’s way too early to deal with the whole Oedipus Complex thing you’ve got going on over there.” 

“Oh,  _ I’ve _ got the Oedipus Complex, huh?” Richie steers him in like a boat docking, linking his hands behind and above Eddie’s ass. 

Eddie palms his pec, “Yes.” 

“Okay, there, pal. Whatever grinds that dick, right?” 

Eddie shakes his head but accepts Richie’s kiss, easily squirming in his embrace, “Come on. I’m hungry. I’ll make it up to you later, alright?” 

Richie pouts but releases him, “You better.” He threatens. “Speaking of favors...” He trails off meaningfully as he watches Eddie rummage around to find fruits for his much healthier breakfast compared to what Richie planned: cereal and milk. 

Eddie dislikes denying Richie. Of course, his first words to his ideas are always negative because it’s an automatic reaction but it doesn’t take long for him to slip under his skin. For all of Eddie’s bossy attitude, inside, he’s just trying to be braver than he feels. But Richie likes his bossiness ( _ you’re a fucking masochist _ , Eddie had said once) and he likes being ordered what and what no to do. Maybe it’s derived from a sexual aspect that Freudian would have a field day about—but Richie wants Eddie in charge. He wants to be consumed by him. 

And okay, Eddie knows too he’ll give in eventually, so he doesn’t need to bother putting up a fight except for the sole purpose of seeing Richie beg just a little bit. Fucking pigtail pulling. Richie wonders if they’ll be this child-like forever. He doesn’t mind if they will. 

Eddie grunts a reply and Richie draws up a shit-eating grin, cupping his ear, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Eddie sighs at his growing smile, “Come on, Rich.”

“Say it for me.” Richie says, spreading his hands, “I need proof.”

“Fine,” He says tightly even as the fight diminishes out of him, “I’ll wear the fucking overalls.” 

Richie emits a soft and pleased noise from his throat and springs up, “I Love you.” He says, words rolling off his tongue like it was made to be said.

“Yeah.” Eddie says thickly, the rush of emotions getting the best of him. 

Richie doesn’t wait for him to say it back because he knows already, even though he doesn’t voice it as much as Richie does. ( _ How can you ever love a man who is as broken as me? _ )

Richie travels to Eddie’s cute workstation and wraps his arms around his torso, resting his chin on top of his fluffy head. Eddie gravitates back into him and Richie takes the knife to cut the fruits, hanging over Eddie and all. 

They were still learning. One day at a time.

The drive to the store takes around thirty minutes when Richie drives but only around fifteen when Eddie’s behind the wheel—which is a mutual agreement between them because driving is his specialty. Eddie had to quit his job as a driver because no clients accepted him due to his disability. It’s bad enough he lost his right arm—his dominant arm—in the first place. However, there are tons of other options such as an add-on to attach onto the steering wheel, consisting of buttons he can’t reach. Richie had gifted him one last year and wouldn’t dare touch the wheel if Eddie was in the car with him. 

Now that his schedule had been mostly cleared due to his ‘vacation’, Eddie filled his days with daily workouts and exercises to keep himself in shape, starting a motivational YouTube channel on the side for other amputees who are looking for the right training. His therapist recommended he indulge his time in a hobby or a purpose and what started as a small channel with six subscribers in the beginning, snowballed into four-hundred thousand the second Richie promoted it on his Twitter. At first, Eddie had been admittedly overwhelmed with the sudden fame.

Twitter was more hectic with Eddie gaining almost as many followers as Richie himself. He got fucking verified and even Stan got the check next to his name, which is when Richie learned people were insanely obsessive about their friendship. To be fair, he can’t blame them for their curiosity. Eddie had done research and major deep dives into fan threads on Twitter and Reddit. He explained it all to Richie during lunch one time, looking a little unhinged like Mike was when he called them back to Derry, persuading them to stay and fight Pennywise. 

When Richie came out after his hiatus and switched up his team, he rejected offers for tours and only accepted gigs in L.A. So, it was inevitable for the reporters to find out about Eddie and Richie’s living situation, which only demanded more questions. 

Eddie had been in the hospital, bandages wrapped around his torso when he begged Beverly to call a divorce lawyer after he told the Losers he was gay. Richie had expected Eddie to know then—know he had feelings for him because they were walking on a thin line and truth was becoming clearer and clearer. Richie hadn’t let go of his hand. He confessed he was too. That moment when their eyes had locked with a ferocity of passion, was probably meant to change everything. 

Except it fell flat. Anti-climatic. Lingering under subtext until they both snapped five weeks back. It didn’t help their situation when countless magazines and gossip articles flooded with images of them together in public. Sometimes they were smiling at each other in such a way, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the emotions written all over their faces. So, go figure. The fans continued to speculate as Richie and Eddie remained quiet on the matter. They were still on the down-low about their relationship, having not publicly confirmed yet but Richie thinks their tweets and Instagram comments or pictures are evidence enough. 

Still, Eddie keeps hesitant about leaving the house. People stare and find him intimidating. Not to mention the concerning matter of the photographers that seemingly stalk them. If Richie and Eddie thought the clown was the stuff of nightmares, they were clearly too naive to realize reporters were worse. Minus the killings and he wouldn't be able to find a difference. And so, matching overalls or not, it was guaranteed they’d be all that Twitter buzzes about in an hour or so. 

On the same line of thought, is Eddie who has become Richie’s shadow, clinging closely by. He’s so entirely caught up in his thoughts that he winds up stumbling into Richie’s back. The rolling cart screeches behind him as Eddie attempts to halt it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says quickly, compressing into himself.

Richie, by now, is a master at dealing with Eddie’s anxiety. Humor is Richie’s best resort and can tactfully bring Eddie out of his funk; a distraction is exactly what he needed. Richie brings up the ramen pack in his hand while Eddie’s nose pinches up, holding a breath.

“Sorry, Eds, I know you want a piece of this but I only go for  _ older-a-men _ .” 

Eddie exhales, words spilling like he was jumping at the chance to make a snide comment, “ _ Jesus fuck _ , Rich. Why you have a Netflix special is beyond any logic.”

Richie beams like someone injected a dose of happiness in his veins. He holds the Heinz ketchup bottle from their cart, “Guess you don’t have Heinz-sight.” He shrugs up his shoulders for full comedic effect. 

Eddie blinks up at him blankly. 

Richie blinks back. 

Eddie holds the pregnant pause for a beat more before he curves around him, grumbling under his breath.  _ Good _ . A quivering smile comes up at Richie’s mouth and watches Eddie screech to a halt, looking expectantly at him once he notices he’s still in his spot, “ _ Well? _ ” He says, urgent, “ketchup slowpoke!” 

Richie’s laugh begins with a guffaw, bowing back with shaking shoulders like a Pez dispenser they used to buy as kids. He can’t explain why Eddie’s humor hits him like a freight train from time to time. It’s random and Richie is struck with the passion to break out into a song and go full-on Broadway. 

Puns were  _ their thing _ much like ice cream and reading comics, watching eighties movies, and singing old cheesy love songs at the top of their lungs. They would try to one-up each other in every store they entered.  _ Another tradition _ . Which is why the most breath-taking gasp comes out of him when he spots a goldmine. Holy shit. 

“Eddie!” With arms spread and a dropped jaw, he presents a stocked shelf and exclaims, “I found Ben!” 

“Wha—” Eddie shakes his head, lacing his tongue over the front of his upper teeth when he reads Hamburger Helper on the red box, “You insufferable idiot. I can’t believe I chose this. I  _ let _ this happen. I chose to love you and—” Hastily and stern, he raises his hand, “if you make  _ one joke _ about pasta or spaghetti I will  _ single-handedly _ karate chop your dick off.” 

In all fairness, Richie is able to hold in his snort for a grand total of seven seconds, eyes on Eddie’s hand, armed and ready. He bursts like a pipe and laughs ruefully, “ _ Single-handedly _ —fuck you, you little comedic turd. That was on  _ purpose! _ ” 

This breaks his facade for Eddie winks—that smug bastard who smirks like a smooth motherfucker. Richie has never been more in love with him and he hadn’t meant to but he blows out another laugh, this one rather sentimental. Richie readjusts his glasses in the same way he has done whenever Eddie looks especially gorgeous—and  _ happy _ .

“Hey, listen to this,” Richie nudges him with his elbow.

Eddie mutters, “Do I have a choice?” Which Richie does well to ignore, pointing at the tub of Country Crock butter.

Eddie deflates.

“I suppose Bill’s got a fresh taste for some  _ country cock _ . Get it? Because Mike?  _ Get it? _ ”

“I get it, Rich.” Eddie humors, not meeting Richie’s pleased gaze. “It would be embarrassing if I didn’t understand your dumb jokes by now.” 

He clutches a fist and drums it to his chest, “Aww, Eds Spagheds—” Eddie’s ears tinge pink, “—That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“That’s not true!” Eddie deepens a frown, reading the nutrition label on a can of baked beans, “I can be sweet.” 

It’s true. Eddie’s notions of sweeping Richie off his feet include: waiting backstage at his gigs with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, surprise him with celebratory dinners, spoon him at night, give him a thousand kisses when Richie begs for them, tweet about how dumb he is, and most importantly, be there at his side to genuinely support him. So, Richie is the asshole in their dynamic if he’s being honest with himself. But, he won’t let an opportunity to tease Eddie, slip out of his hands. 

Eddie narrows his eyes. “You’re fucking with me now, aren’t you?”

Dammit. Richie wonders if Eddie can read his mind. 

He slouches but bops Eddie’s nose, “You’re sweeter than the candies I keep in my pocket.” He takes his chance and pinches his cheeks, “The cutest.” 

Eddie might be sending him a death-glare but in reality, he’s pleased. 

Richie hip-checks him, passing the ice-cream aisle. A week ago, Richie had held up an Edy’s ice-cream tub with a mock scandalized look, scolding,  _ You opened up a business without telling me? How could you? _ Richie had been on his knees, clinging onto Eddie’s arm and amping up the dramatics so high, they nearly got kicked out. Eddie had spent the entire car ride home, yelling at an amused Richie who had been entirely too captivated by a pissed off Eddie than to honestly fear for his life. 

Richie does believe he likes living on the edge.

“Excuse me?” A voice he doesn’t recognize calls from in front of them. 

A blonde girl who couldn’t be older than nineteen smiles up at the pair, wobbly lips and practically about to shake out of her skin. “I’m sorry, um, are you two Richie and Eddie?” She slides hair past her ear, the other hand clutched to her sternum as if she feared they’d attack her.

Eddie stiffens in self-consciousness and Richie couldn’t blame him. These fan encounters went well or downright shittier than one of Bill’s endings. And Eddie is the last person who can grasp the concept of fans for him.

“Why, yes!” Richie takes the lead, clad in a posh accent, offers his hand for her to shake.

The girl chuckles nervously, accepting it, “Um...I’m Morgan. I’m a big fan of both of you.” Her words rush out eagerly, causing her to wince momentarily at her own lack of cool. “It’s s-so insane to see you out here! I-I mean, I went out to get some milk, you know?” 

Richie nods, nudging Eddie’s side, “Hey, isn’t that what I told you? That you needed some milk?” 

Eddie purses his lips with an eye-roll, “He’s trying to be funny—” 

“Cause of that vine—” 

“I’m pretty sure she knows, Rich.” He says, “Anyway, this idiot thinks my arm could grow back like I’m some sort of reptile.” 

Richie conspiringly leans over at the flustered girl, “I’m not actually an idiot.” 

“Jury’s out on that.”

“Was just trying to make him laugh.” He reassures, winking. Morgan puffs out a small laugh. “So, you want a picture? An autograph?”

She sobers up, “Actually...” A blush blooms on her cheeks, “If I could, I would like one with Eddie, I love your videos. My boyfriend’s brother is a leg amputee and we all find you inspiring.”

Eddie pales.

Richie’s plows on, impressed, “Eds, huh? I would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that we both share an inclination towards Spaghetti.”

Some color returns to Eddie’s face.

“No—I—one with Eddie and one with the both of you would be amazing actually—I just don’t want to be a bother, though,” She continues, a spark of panic in her tone. 

“It’s all good, peaches,” Richie says, “I’ll take the photo for you.” 

Eddie blinks out of his stupor. He swallows, inhaling deeply through his nose while figuring out the pose. “Um...” 

“Here,” Morgan sidles up to his side and Eddie manifests into a brick wall. Richie would laugh if it weren’t so pathetic. He wanted to shake him and tell him to relax right the fuck now. 

She doesn’t seem to notice though, a warm smile on her face as she loosely rests her palm on his back. Richie shoots Eddie a certain look, then—one that is mixed between encouraging and stern. In response, Eddie pulls up a believable enough smile. Richie intends to draw a real one out of him, though.

“Everybody say penis,” Richie sing-songs, making Eddie scowl right as the picture is taken. 

Richie snickers, taking multiples of Morgan loosening up in his embrace, finding that Eddie himself, was slowly taking the metaphorical stick out his ass, smiling ever so exasperatedly at the number of goofy faces Richie constructs behind the phone. 

“Alright...Now as for the trio...” Richie holds the phone up, tapping on the camera reversal icon for a selfie. He takes a bunch and returns the phone back to her.

“Thank you so much!” Morgan gushes, phone to her chest after they’re done. “Honestly, it means a lot!—And you both are so nice!” 

Richie notably sees Eddie’s last wall crumbles down.  _ He didn’t need to be scared _ . Richie hooks their pinkies together and Eddie squeezes it, sending him a grateful tip of his chin. 

“It was nice meeting you, Morgan. I’m glad my videos help your boyfriend’s brother.” 

A flicker of intense emotion passes over her face. Morgan nods at Eddie as if he held the sun and moon in his hand. She reminds Richie of himself in that moment.

“It was nice meeting you too,” Morgan smiles, recovering and darts her eyes between them, “You both are really cute together, by the way.” She raises a hand for a wave and sprints away with a skip in her step. 

Richie rubs his thumb into Eddie’s waist as they watch her retreat, “Number?”

Eddie turns his face up, gentle mouth quirking at the corner where his dimples stretched back. Richie loves kissing that area. “Two. You?”

“That rhymed,” He thinks out loud, “Two is good. I’m zero. I’m chill. She was nice, I like her.” 

Eddie’s snort is music to his ears. He tips his head onto Richie’s scratchy chin, “She was nice,” Eddie agrees, “Started as an eight though.” 

Richie scoffs unbelievably, “Eight? Yeah, no way. You froze up like you got caught in the deadlights, Eds.” 

“ _ Don’t call me Eds _ —” 

“—You were an eleven for sure. But you were brave.”

Eddie meets his eyes, finger poking at his belly, “ _ You’re _ braver than you think.” 

Richie admonishes, “Hey, don’t steal my line.” 

“Shut up. I can and I will.” He twists his fingers at Richie’s lower stomach, making him gasp. 

“Ooh, foreplay in public. Scandalous Mr. Kaspbrak.” Richie says in a thick German accent, waggling his eyebrows. 

Eddie shrugs, playing along, “I’m already getting Twitter notifications. I’ve accepted my fate.” 

“Sexy.” He breathes out, pretty sure that his mouth is foaming with drool.

Eddie purses his lips, a fond smile playing at his mouth, “Down, boy. You don’t want to get kicked out again, do you?“ 

“ _ Literally _ not helping, dude.” 

Eddie shakes his head but he’s snickering and trying his best to reel it in because he hates to feed Richie’s ego. But then he does this thing of leaving Richie breathless—surprising him with a tip his head to the side, “You’re an idiot. I love you.” 

A ball in his throat swells twice its size, and Eddie understands because he  _ can _ read his mind. He brings him down for a small peck on the mouth, hand on Richie’s nape where he tugs at the curly hair. Did this count as PDA? Because Richie is seconds away from slowly making out with him like they’re under the rain in some rom-com movie but also booked on a train for an emotional breakdown.

Richie hasn’t had his daily cry. He’s vulnerable and susceptible enough to pop like a balloon if someone so as much breathes on him. He blames Eddie. Richie wasn’t ever an emotional person—but then again, he had forgotten key traits gartered to his personality so he never really knew himself in the first place. 

Still.

Richie sighs, foreheads resting together, eyes prickling. “I love you too.” 

Eddie curls his hair behind his ears for him. Richie’s eyes flutter shut, sensation never failing to make his toes curl. It always seemed possessive—like he was being taken care of. Like he was smaller than Eddie and because Richie’s always felt tiny in contrast to him and his rather assertive personality. 

“I know.” Eddie replies like he believes it.

So. This is Richie’s gift—a miracle and for whatever karmic justice he’s conducted in the past must be the only reason he received such a thing—this gift of relearning Eddie again as an adult. But Richie realized early on that he was still the same at the center.

Except for that flame inside Eddie had died, slowly but surely rekindling again with the help of Richie’s match. But okay, Richie wouldn’t say he was the only reason Eddie’s returning to his normal self. The Losers all helped in their own way. Especially Bev and Patty who Eddie had grown a lot closer to in the past year. Richie suspects it may have been because of Bev and Eddie going through their separate divorces and similar experiences. But Patty was someone he didn’t expect at first. Richie believes it might be because she’s new in a sense, and Eddie finds it easier to speak with her. Patty is also much like Stan with her straight-forwardness, witty humor, and inner warmth. She merged into their group seamlessly.

So, yes, Richie would say he knows Eddie well. He knows Eddie is still sorrowful and insecure. He knew this about him before Eddie voiced it because Richie observes him clamming up during fan encounters, at pictures of them plastered on front pages, and the way he subconsciously hides beside Richie in public, always standing on his left because Eddie thinks it would somehow not draw attention to his lack of an arm. Or maybe Richie knew when Eddie began cringing out of hugs, never initiating them and awkwardly accepting them with stiff shoulders. 

And that was before. And Eddie’s getting better. 

But Richie knows that the AC in wintertime creates pins and needles on his stump, that a hot bath or a massage helps, and that it will most likely take forever for Eddie to get used to not having an arm because Richie sees him trying to use both and then stop shortly after the cold, harsh reality sinks down his expression. Richie tries his all to make it better and easier, but he also can’t suffocate Eddie like his mother. He tries not to—which is exactly why it stung when Eddie had thrown it in his face during their fight. 

_ (You reject offers from fucking Westwood because you’re too afraid of leaving me in the house alone. How is that not toxic?) _ . 

He had been absolutely correct. So Richie thought:  _ If I’m going places, might as well take him with me _ . Relationships were built on compromise, after all.

But Richie would be performing  _ Hamilton _ songs absentmindedly with a pencil in his hand and an empty notebook in front of him as he sketched out his next stand-up routine, and unmistakably feel the hair at the back of his neck rise, feeling like he was being watched. No. Watched is the wrong term for it.  _ Seen _ . Eddie looks at him like he’s searching for the purpose of the universe. His nose crinkles sometimes like the way it does when Richie is being dumb, and other times, Eddie looks at him with a melting pot of expressions, brown eyes dilating in a way that would have Richie’s pants tighten tenfold. Eddie is already the most intense person he’s grown acquainted with and combined with how much Richie’s gone for him (sexually and emotionally), it would be safe to say that Eddie staring at him only made him want to do  _ something _ . To kiss him senseless when Eddie knows he’s winning an argument, eyes bright while smirking smugly with a  _ fuck you _ that travels all the way down to Richie’s dick and heart because for some reason Eddie has Richie feeling like he needs to get down on his hands and knees pronto, but also find himself near tears, overwhelmed at how adorable he is.

Their banter is effortless, spitting back and forth in a way that has them both on the tip of their toes. It’s part of Eddie he admires. To be able to jab at each other without truly hurting the other person because this is who they were. They’re honest and see through each other’s bullshit like it’s their job. Perhaps in some instances, they take it too far—too real and too honest—but they pull through every time because after everything, they know being apart kills them. Which is why their fights never lead to drastic ends. 

And Richie has been through the wringer many times considering the whole killer space clown thingamabob. Practically nothing could make him shit a nice square block. 

But.

“Richie...” Eddie stops at the entrance of the kitchen, utterly speechless at the vision laid out in front of him, “Holy shit.” 

He has never feared for his life as much as he has now, staring at Eddie’s ombre colored face, pink and purple, and white.

Eddie steps in, and Richie honest-to-god feels his limbs detach when Eddie sees flour on the island counter, a splash of cherry juice dribbling over the stove, and in the middle of ten different messy bowls and opened packets, stands Richie himself. Richie who’s got a unicorn headband on to restrain his fluffy hair, elbows deep in vanilla extract (there may or may not have been an explosion after he cut too deep into the packet). Richie simpers at the murderous way Eddie scowls at him, still in denial about the fact that he’s seconds away from being murdered. 

Oh wow, he was  _ totally _ going to end up in a Buzzfeed Unsolved video. Awesome.

“It’s a bit messy—”

“ _ A bit?! _ ” 

“Eds—”

“ _ Seriously, Richard? _ Are you looking to dig your own grave right now?” 

Richard. Damn. 

Richie pouts and Eddie stabs his pointer finger at his face, “No! That will not work on me!” He motions at the finished steaming pies, “And why the hell are you baking so many? We’re two people!” 

Richie peruses a look at the counter, “I got excited?” Sensing the quiet threat, Richie lays off, raising his hands in surrender, “I got this. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, alright?”

Eddie makes a noise, tearing tissue from the roll, “That’s not what I’m annoyed about, Rich.” He exhales roughly, “You can’t clean for shit, and it’s just better to let me handle it. Properly.” He emphasizes, scrubbing at the flour on the counter vigorously. 

Unfortunately, this also means his muscles are flexing. 

Richie squeaks, “Um...” Eddie frowns when he catches him staring, raising an eyebrow. “Did you come in here for something?” He blurts. 

Eddie stacks the bowls and carries them into the sink where Richie is toweling off his hands, “Oh. Right.” He lifts his leg slightly, showing how the cloth around his ankles unfolded, reaching the floor.

Ah. A common mishap in this household.

Eddie scowls, daring him to make fun of him. And Richie does, “Come on, you dwarf.”

Eddie huffs but says nothing when he lands his ass on the stool as Richie sits on the one next to his, accepting his leg. There’s a feral animal that lives inside Eddie’s body—a hedgehog, and the spikes retract at Richie’s touches. They’ve joked before about what their Patronus's might be after they marathoned the  _ Harry Potter _ movies and Richie convinced Eddie to read the books—because apparently he hadn’t read them and Richie wanted to die on the spot, because, what, how and  _ why? _ (Eddie is on the second one as of now and enjoying it very much), so Richie had said Eddie’s would be a hedgehog or a tiger. Fierce and protective but also sensitive. For Richie, they decided on monkey or parrot because of their energetic, playful, and essentially talkative nature. To which, Richie’s no clue what he’s on about because Eddie can literally talk without breathing. (Richie tells him,  _ no wonder you thought you had asthma. _ ) 

But Eddie loves watching him during similar situations like this. Richie knows this because he stares deep into his soul. He stares at how Richie purses his mouth with a tiny slip of his pink tongue poking between his lips, and glasses sliding down his nose. Once before, Eddie confessed he loves how Richie touches him. He loves the indelicacy and the random spur of it like it’s an adventure. Like Eddie’s able to handle the rough pad of Richie’s finger pressing into his softer skin. Richie didn’t treat him delicately. And their minds wander back in time, back to lingering hands and hot skin-on-skin—the way they still linger. Such as now, with Richie having folded the bottom of the overalls with precision Eddie admires and brushes his finger down the naked tanned skin. He tugs the white cotton of Eddie’s socks up before ushering for his other leg into his lap. 

“I’m not a dwarf,” Eddie says haughtily. Except, he’s lowering his voice in that husky undertone. 

Richie finishes folding, smoothing out the wrinkles with a small smirk. He squeezes Eddie’s leg before letting go, “You are. You’re like the Man from Another Place.” Richie teases. 

“That’s rich coming from the guy who baked five cherry pies like we’re about to open up our own Double R.” He walks back to the dishwasher, loading it with the sticky bowls. 

“Well, they taste fucking good!” Richie defends, “And you saying a word about it is being pie-phobic.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Just like that clerk who denied your refund counted as a gay hate crime, right?” 

“Um?  _ Yes! _ ” Richie’s words light with fire, “My receipt clearly said I had a week and I went back in under a week. So. Hate crime.” He props an elbow on the island counter, palm under his chin and ass mid-air. Unfortunately, Eddie doesn’t play into Richie’s hand. 

_ Sigh _ .

Richie continues his reply mysteriously, “Besides, I have to perfect the recipe before Halloween.”

“And why must you?”

Richie grins ear-to-ear, smacking a hand to the counter, “I’m glad you asked! I need to because  _ we’re _ ...drum roll,” He proceeds with one, creating a beat on the marble counter they had specially installed by their favorite resident architect, Ben. “Because we’re going as  _ Twin Peaks _ characters!”

Eddie stabs the button that starts the cycle for the dishwasher, “Oh, that’s bullshit!”

“You  _ don’t _ want to go as  _ Twin Peaks _ characters?” Richie asks, dejected. 

“No! I’m not going as the Man from the Other Place when I’m clearly one-armed Mike!”

Richie pauses, excitement ballooning, “Holy fuck—you’re right! Eds, you’re a genius!”

Eddie smiles in exasperation, “Who are you going to be, dumbass?” He asks. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He gestures at himself, doing a wiggle, “The glasses?” Eddie’s still drawing blanks, “Seriously? Literally the most iconic character in the whole show?” 

“As if that’s supposed to narrow this down.”

_ Huh _ . “Point.” 

“Yeah, shit for brains. Move, I think the pie is done.” Richie shuffles to the side for Eddie’s inspection. 

When it’s clear he won’t answer, Richie exclaims, “You’re no fun,” He throws his hands in the air, “Log Lady! Of course, I’d go as Log Lady!”

Eddie scoffs, sucking his thumb where a small drop of cherry juice lies, “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t want to spend the entire night hearing you say, ‘I got wood’ every five seconds, thanks.” 

Richie dips his tone, voice husky, “I’ll take the complaint as long as you’ll tell me what you really wanna hear all night, baby.” 

Eddie snorts, steaming cherry pie in his gloved hand. “That was terrible.” He sets the pan on the counter and reaches for him. 

Typical. Eddie loves his idiocy. 

Richie’s heart drums out of his chest and climbs back inside the vicinity. Their kiss is sweet and driven with passion. “You taste like cherry and lime.” Eddie mouths against his mouth, “Sweet and sour...”

It’s a wet kiss, Eddie’s tongue mapping down his throat. Richie groans, stimulating Eddie to release a guttural mewl in response. “You’ve been...” Richie feels his skin burn where Eddie finds an opening to his overalls and immerses those short fingers inside to graze bare flesh, “...a ray of sunshine today.” 

Eddie breaks away, hand frozen, pupils blown wide. It’s not as if Eddie isn’t sappy, it’s only that Richie is the clingy one of the two which is why the shift is pleasant and curious.

Eddie says, “I’m just.....happy.” Richie’s eyes pool up automatically. “I don’t want to be sad. I can’t let Pennywise win.”

Richie feels as if Eddie’s reached into his gaping chest and taken ahold of his thrashing heart, clutching it. Eddie smiles fondly upon noticing a stray tear escape from Richie’s eye. He swipes it away with his thumb. 

Richie chuckles on a sob, “Ah—jeez. The waterworks are really gushing out today.” Slightly embarrassed, he sniffs and dabs his wrist to his nose where the snot collects. 

“I don’t mind.” 

“Even while my boogers are running down my face?”

“Even then.”

Richie whistles lowly, “Damn. True love.”

Eddie tickles his fingers on his skin, making him wriggle free, “I’ll show you true love, Disney princess.” Richie barks out a surprised laugh, body light, and free. “Hey,” Eddie stops tickling—finally. Richie was in fear of the very possible chance of pissing his pants. “Tell me something real.” 

Richie blinks down, grasping both of Eddie’s cheeks in his hands and squishing them so that his mouth puckers up. Eddie’s annoyed. Richie smiles, “Well...it’s real that I love you. That I love your sexy scars—”

“Freak—” Eddie comments.

“—And the fact that you have one arm doesn’t bother me because you’re alive and you’re here with me.” Eddie stares in his trademark style, “And it’s everything, you know? Because you saved my life. Very heroic and sexy—the saving me part, if that wasn’t clear.” 

Eddie drops his forehead on Richie’s chest and puffs a small laugh, “It’s clear.” His voice cracks.

Richie swallows the ball of emotion thick in his throat, “I couldn’t have gone on without you.”

It’s not exactly a frown but it appears close to one, with Eddie’s eyebrows dipping at the front, creating layers of lines on his forehead. To think of their age is like dunking his head in ice-cold water. Twenty-three fucking years spent in a haze of confusion. That’s not living. It shouldn’t count. 

“Peas and carrots...” Eddie says under his breath. 

Richie’s mind is wiped hollow, brain tingling. An image holds and dissipates. But if he just clutches it long enough, it sticks in place—and Richie inhales bluntly.  _ Fuck _ . He stumbles even while standing properly, two feet rooted to the floor. His stomach turns, contents rising up to the back of his throat. This happened whenever a memory from Derry resurfaced.

“Sorry,” Eddie winces, cupping Richie’s cheek in comfort.

“Peas and carrots,” He replies, mouth dry, “ _ Forrest Gump _ .” Eddie nods, biting his lip except his mouth is as thin as fucking ice so it’s all skin. “Eddie, baby, how do you remember that?” Richie asks, feeling no air inside his lungs, overwhelmed with affection and negativity replacing with something sweet. 

Eddie takes Richie’s hair in his hand and plays with it, nostalgia brimming behind his expression, “It was the night before you left Derry, remember?”

Richie nods, “I didn’t want to leave. Knew I’d forget you like Bev and Bill did.”

“That’s right. We watched it first in the cinemas when it was released.”

Richie laughs quietly, “Yeah. Until we snuck in three more times because you loved it so much.”

“You did too. You kept doing his voice.”

“You hated it.”

“No. I loved it.” Eddie says right away.

Richie is weak in the knees. “You were so quiet that night...wanted to...do something. So, I put it on.” 

“It helped until the movie ended and I started crying. Then you cried because I cried—”

“And I promised we’d never forget each other. We couldn’t.” Richie blinks back the tears. “We were in denial.”

Eddie smiles sadly, “But you told me that—” he licks his lips, “—you told me we went together like peas and carrots.” He fingers Richie’s mouth, spit-slick, making him shudder, “Wanted to kiss you. Tell you how I felt because I was going to explode if I missed the chance.” 

The fierceness of the diction has Richie exhale a shaky laugh. “You’ve always felt emotions deeper than I have. More intense. It’s why you drive me crazy whenever you touched me—whenever you  _ still _ touch me.” 

Eddie hums, eyes trained at Richie’s mouth where he breathes on his thumb. “Richie…” He’s on his tip-toes, climbing him like a monkey, eager and restless the way he usually is. 

“Time to cash in that other favor, eh?” Richie hooks his hands under Eddie’s thighs and he goes up smoothly, athletic legs powerful around his waist. His back creaks out a warning he ignores, caught up in the feel of  _ this _ .

“I’ve been half-hard all day.” Eddie nips at his lips and hell. Richie can feel the proof of that statement perfectly well. 

He squawks into his mouth, “That’s the motherfucking shway.” 

Eddie grins, “I love when you say absolute garbage whenever we’re having sex.” 

“I d-don’t know, I don’t see much sex going on.”

“Well, if you’d hurry the fuck up, we’d be in our bedroom by now and I’d already have my dick up your ass.” 

Richie’s mind spins as he squeezes Eddie’s thighs, “Fuck a duck.” 

“That’s  _ disgusting _ .”

“It’s an expression.” Richie blinks, wide-eyed.

“I know.” Eddie grabs a handful of his hair, ripping the unicorn headband off. It falls somewhere on the ground. He couldn’t fucking care less. Richie groans weakly, fingers digging into the meaty flesh of his ass. “Bedroom.  _ Now _ .”

Fuck clowns, lepers, or spiders. Richie’s never ran so fast in his goddamn life. 

Richie’s wearing a skirt and stockings, blonde wig toppling over his big head and holding a fake plastic log in his hands, but he thinks he’s doing fairly well on his part. He’s definitely on Eddie’s ‘good boy’ list for not leering he’s ‘got wood’ every five seconds like Eddie assumed he would. Instead, he’s only asked Bev if she wanted to touch his wood around three times in the past two hours compared to the seven times he’s asked the same to Eddie. Whereas Bev would giggle and play along, Eddie would blankly and intentionally not react, but he did catch a quiver of a small, teeny, tiny smile on the corner of his mouth—so Richie thinks he’s wearing him down. Just a wee bit. 

An inch feels like a mile, doesn’t it?

“No way!” Beverly gasps. “I don’t believe it, Bill.” She shakes her head, dressed as Offred from  _ The Handmaids Tale _ .

“I saw her.” Bill insists, making a dashing Watson, “There w-was no mistaking it.”

Mike, his other half (Sherlock) nods, “It’s true. Nobody trusts gossip magazines but we were there. We saw it.”

“I’m telling you. It's the eyebrows,” Patty suggests out loud confidently. She is in an Eliza Espositos costume. (Stanley came as the Amphibian man and Richie can safely say they are some kinky motherfuckers). “Bev, tell them. They’re a wonder.” 

“Shit.” She’s staring at the wall, wide-eyed, “You’re right. Audra has the best eyebrows.” 

Patty nods, “Gives her a real exotic look, doesn’t it, baby-love?” She calls over to her husband and the father of her child.

“Oh. Yeah. Like a puffin.” Stan agrees, sipping at his apple juice and then sharing a look with Richie who has to stifle a laugh behind his palm.

“But Kay? And Audra? I didn’t even know they  _ met _ .” Beverly says in disbelief. 

“I’m more enthralled by the idea that you guys Grace and Frankie-d the shit out of this,” Richie says, unable to stop the snickers. 

Beverly seethes, “I regret telling you things.” and Richie blows her a kiss. She flips him off.

“Wait a second...” Bill frowns and pales, “Did you and Kay...?” 

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake! It was just a kiss! Only a kiss!”

“Okay, Mr. Brightside.” Eddie snorts and Richie giggles into his neck.

Beverly gapes, “So is this how it’s going to be?” She waggles a finger at Richie who’s quite comfortable in Eddie’s lap. “You two being the two who are the two?”

“Totally. Lovely reference, by the way. I’ve taught you well, Padawan.” Richie tells Eddie who grins up at him. 

Stan sighs, frowning at his juice, “This is no good. I’m going to open that bottle of wine...”

The night only improves once Richie plays with baby Winifred (Winnie or Fred for nicknames) dressed as a pixie as she gurgles down at him with loud exclaims and giggles. He throws her in the air and catches her a couple of times, high on the drug of her beaming smile. But when he catches Eddie leaning on the door frame and biting his lip—with _that_ _face_ , Richie nearly drops her. 

He lowers his own smile and settles to kiss her forehead as he rests her on his chest, gently rubbing her back. 

Eddie has always carried a wave of energetic emotion like a shadow. It never fails to swallow the air out of his lungs, skin tingling in Eddie’s presence and just. Eddie. God. Richie wanted to always see him smile that way. The first thing Richie does when he steps in the room is find him and when someone cracks a joke, Richie searches for Eddie to make sure he had been laughing too. To share that moment and make it theirs even if it didn’t necessarily link to them. 

Richie rocks Winnie and side-steps closer to Eddie who only blinks nervously when he hands her over. “Rich, I don’t think—”

But it’s no good because Richie can be stubborn too. “Here,” He says, offering Winnie carefully with his hand under her head as Eddie barely breathes. 

Eddie licks his lips, arms stiff with Winnie tucked halfway into his arms. And Richie supposes his close presence helps along with the additional support of him being the second arm Eddie needed just in case. 

“Hey, lookie, here,” Richie coos, knuckle brushing her lower lip, “Uncle Spaghetti’s pretty brave and strong, isn’t he? Yeah that’s right, give him a big smile for me, would ya?” 

Winnie obliges, all shiny, white teeth, and Eddie gasps sharply, then coughs on a laugh, finding Richie’s eyes like a static charge. Every organ buzzes and his brain feels like a snap and shake glow stick. 

_ I love you, I love you, I love you _ .

Winnie burps, shattering the soft bubble. It makes Patty laugh and she sidles over to grab her. “Welp, she just took a grand shit.” She puckers her mouth at her baby, “Time to change diapers and put this little one to bed.”

Richie pouts but they let her go, “Take me with you!” and Patty pats his cheek sympathetically.

“Maybe later, you big baby.” 

“I’ll hold you to that. I need cuddles!” And Patty grins, whispering something in Eddie’s ear before rushing off. 

Eddie sniffs suspiciously again but finds Richie’s hand and intertwines their fingers. Richie doesn’t think much of it at first because they’re not exactly into PDA but Eddie’s been handsy— and well—Richie has an internal laugh about the irony of it all because there’s just no way he can touch so much of Richie so many times—because Richie feels him. It burns and singes and he bumps the underside of the table hard (knees bruising) when he surprisingly feels Eddie’s hand inch up his skirt during dessert.

It had started on his knees and Richie had still been nonchalant about Eddie’s affections. Until Eddie had cleared his plate, stomach full and attention on Bill as he discussed his new shitty book. Or so it seemed until Eddie’s hand had made its way to the hem of the skirt, fingers hovering down to sweaty inner thighs, on dangerous territory.

Which was when Richie banged his knee and every single pair of eyes had turned to his flushed face and wide eyes in question. 

“Mmm—” Richie moans, hand shaking as he takes a bite of the cherry pie, “This is delicious.” 

Eddie is quiet beside him and has no aim of removing his hand. In fact, he simply squeezes the flesh, and Richie accidentally closes his legs, trapping his hand in between as if Eddie had just triggered a booby trap. Their friends aren’t idiots and Mike may be stifling an amused smirk behind his glass of wine but they were good people for not making it into a spectacle. 

So, Richie learns he quite likes being hunted because absolutely two can play at this game. And like  _ hell _ would he cave first. In the end, Richie didn’t have to because he’d excused himself to wash his sweaty face after belting out to ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ by the Tokens with Bev, Mike and Bill, laughing until their stomachs hurt when a familiar urgent grip had attached to his wrist, dragging them down the darker hall, away from the laughter and chatter of their friends. 

Richie thumps his back against the wall, framed pictures cluttering from the force. Eddie lines his proportions on the usual places he locks into when he presses adjacent to Richie. A giddy chuckle escapes when Eddie mouths over his chin, hand pinning Richie’s waist to the wall behind. 

“Hello to you too.” Feline-like, a purr rumbles through his words and he hikes his leg up Eddie’s body. Richie glides the side of his heels into his calf, earning a grunt and curse. 

“I hate you so much.” 

Richie smiles, “So tell me,” Eddie sears forward, frantic while his hand lowers down his broad back, bumping over the knobs, “was it the heels or the s-skirt—that did you in?” 

Eddie grabs a handful of Richie’s ass, kneading in a way that has him go fucking batshit crazy. Richie loves the sporadic frenzy behind each touch as if Eddie needs to get his hands on every nook and cranny, familiarizing like he’s afraid he’ll forget otherwise.

Eddie sucks on his mouth and releases with a smack, words jarring, “Everything. Just you...” The gravely tone of his words travel to his groin. Richie sure as hell thinks he’s going to pass out from Eddie’s fingers and how they prod bluntly over his asshole over the fabric.

“Well, I do personally think it’s the skirt.” Richie shrugs. “It does rather make my ass look f-fuckable and here you a-are as I live and breathe so...”

Eddie grips his chin.  _ Hard _ . Richie’s jaw turns slack. “Has anyone ever told you modesty is a virtue and being vain is unbecoming?”

If they ignore the way Richie embarrassingly squeaks and practically pants when he replies, “I don’t know about you but I’d rather  _ be _ coming,” he thinks he could almost believably pass as not sweating like a pig or close to rutting Eddie’s leg like a dog in order to relieve his Eiffel Tower of an erection. 

Eddie’s mouth uproots into a devilish smirk but it’s filled with love and hunger. He kisses him again, biting Richie’s bottom lip until it’s swollen, “I’m not having sex here,” Richie makes a small, painful sound. “Hush.” Richie stops immediately and Eddie praises, “Good.” 

His throat contracts and he’s leaking in his underwear. And yet, Eddie steps back, causing Richie to miss his warmth immediately. He attempts to be rid of his pout but it’s beyond his limits of restraint as Eddie smooths out his skirt and gives him a nice pat on his ass, “Better get back now.” 

Richie gulps, unsticking himself from the wall because he might as well been glued to it. “You’re a menace.” He tells him, good-natured.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into.” Eddie lifts his stump shoulder, so fucking confident and self-assured again that Richie has to readjust his skirt again. 

Eddie isn’t wrong though. Life is a thrill beside him so it’s not a stretch to find every aspect of their relationship to be as such too. And when they return to the others, Eddie too caught up in Richie’s smile, it takes him a moment to notice the cupcake held in Ben’s hand, a single candle lit on top.

“Fuck.” Eddie blinks. “You guys...” he stares at the cupcake. It’s deathly quiet, anticipation building. Eddie looks on the same way he used to as a child. Big brown eyes wide and curious at all times—just a tad bit scared like when he’d broken his arm.

“Well? Go on!” Patty encourages, pulling him out of his head. She sports a wide, bright smile, hands locked under her chin.

Eddie blows out the candle, eyes glassy, “You guys didn’t have to do this for me—is it even November 1st yet?” He clears his throat.

“It’s midnight,” Ben informs, handsome in a suit and tie (Richie vaguely remembers he said he was James Bond). 

Richie can’t tell if its purposeful of Eddie to lean into his side or not, but he does cling to his frame and Richie performs his duty of being a good boyfriend and holds him close, kissing his forehead. 

“We wanted to do something for your birthday this year. Got a lot to celebrate, yeah?” Beverly hooks her arms in his, thumb circling into his skin comfortingly. 

Eddie tips his head up and down in a daze, leaving Richie to wonder if he has now just reflected on his own growth. Knowing him, Richie assumes he’s correct for Eddie’s applying all his energy into not crying. His fist and shoulders are tense, neck tendons protruding.

Patty, ever the knack for drawing comfort, asks, “Did you wish for anything?” 

As if the thought of it hadn’t even occurred, he says, “....No?” She tsks lightly. (Motherhood has turned her into quite the nurturing type). Eddie adds openly, voice thick as if he’s building his courage, “What am I supposed to wish for when I got all of you?” 

Richie couldn’t possibly squeeze Eddie closer than he already is. His eyes and nose prickle from the feverish impulse to sneeze, room quiet from the crushing weight of emotion. The rest display varying expressions of love ringing in their eyes and it easily grows into a group hug, arms wrapped around Eddie, wet sniffs and coos the only sound in the room. 

“Well, this is nice.” Richie musters up to say, trying to make light of the situation. If he ruins the moment, he ruins the moment. But at least, he can be charming.

“Very comfy.” Mike agrees, voice edging into an educational one (which was never a good sign), “You know the Native America—”

“ _ Boo! _ ” Everyone protests and groans.

“Honey,  _ babe _ , please shut up about the Native Americans.” Bill drips with exasperation somewhere beside him in the sea of limbs.

“I love you all,” Stan says abruptly. 

It goes silent, all of them pausing to absorb this moment of vulnerability from him. Stan’s always been the king of sap. He’d cry during every holiday gathering, digging his chin in the dip of Richie’s shoulder with arms wrapped around him like an octopus. 

Eddie says, “Me too. Thanks for this…you don’t know how much this really means to me. You’ve all—you’ve all helped me so much.” His words break at the end.

“Aww, bub.” Patty pouts, glossy lips shiny and she dabs at the tears down his cheek. “No more of that, yeah?” Eddie nods, watery smile and all.

All of a sudden, an annoyed groan rings the air, alarming the group, “I swear to  _ God _ , Richie,” Bill erupts, “that better not be your dick that’s  _ pressing _ into my  _ thigh right now _ .” He threatens and Richie bursts into laughter.

It breaks their sentimental episode, all Losers rocking together with shaking shoulders and laughing like they’ve never laughed before. Richie feels full, about to burst from the powerful emotions swirling like a tornado inside his body. Soon, they find themselves on the floor, tangled limbs, all bodies a blob of one. Just as it should be.

_ Family _ . 

By the time they make it back home, it’s twelve past one. Mike and Bill suggested they all sleepover for old time’s sake. Recreate their memories from their childhood when not a weekend went by without an invasion of the Losers, cycling through each of their houses per week. Except Eddie’s; Sonia would rather drop dead than entertain the lot, which is hilarious because they all would’ve enjoyed seeing that—especially Richie. But they rejected the sweet offer and drove home, wrapping up the party after lying on the floor for fifteen whole minutes and groaning as they got up, joints popping and muscles spasming. 

Getting old sucked. It’s as if they defeated Pennywise and their bodies decided to just give up after that. They went: that’s enough exercise to last a lifetime. 

And Richie had no complaints about leaving early. He enjoyed their moments as a group but he and Eddie didn’t have to voice their thoughts to make it clear that they wanted to spend Eddie’s birthday together. Alone. Their implicit plans included not getting out of bed the entire day and fucking like bunnies, cuddling, ordering greasy food, fucking again, cuddling, and yada-yada. With Eddie’s active energy and short (like his height— _ ha! _ ) refractory period, he typically tends to wear Richie out, so cuddles and naps in between are a must. 

Eddie is lightning in a bottle, but he’s also gentle. Except. To be wanted and feel wanted is too satisfying for him to deny Eddie. No one has ever thought Richie’s...desirable in that sense. His bucked teeth, big glasses, gangly limbs, and trashy mouth granted him sex from women who pitied him throughout college. Richie hadn’t been particularly liked. They always wanted lights and glasses off, rushed sex, sprinting away after without a word, and it had him feel used. Once he recognized the pattern, he wouldn’t necessarily have sex until he really was at the deep end, desperate and tired from jerking off to bad porn. 

And when Richie had sex with Eddie the first time, he felt he had just experienced a religious, out of body understanding of a concept beyond his level of comprehension. Eddie didn’t want lights off, didn’t really care if his glasses were on, didn’t care if his stomach spilled at his waist, and that he had stretch marks like claws on his skin. Eddie wants him for who he is. And Richie only wants to give and give. Because nothing could compare to the sensation of Eddie deep inside him, feeling perfectly full and content. Whole. And one.

Richie drops their keys at the console table in the foyer, and they both toe-off their shoes, Eddie reaching down to properly arrange them on the shoe rack. Their house is dark but moonlight shines in for enough easy movement, so they don’t bother with lights as they shuffle towards their bedroom. 

Richie’s not particularly sleepy and neither is Eddie since they indulged in an afternoon nap earlier. He makes a beeline to the bathroom and Eddie follows inside, struggling to unbutton his shirt. Richie turns on the tap in the bathtub and holds up two bottles, twisting around for Eddie. 

“Are you in the mood for some aloe or sweet orange vanilla?” 

“Mmm...” He sways on his feet, lowering to take his pants off, “Sweet orange-vanilla sounds good right now.” 

Richie stares at his now naked state, cock soft around pubic hair. He sort of wants to get on the floor and nuzzle him to his cheek. Eddie grins and steps over towards Richie to kiss the corner of his jaw. 

It snaps him out of his reverie and if he does end up dumping too much product in the bath, creating a sea of foam, Eddie makes no comment. The aroma is powerful and instantly relaxes him, engulfing pleasantly in their bathroom. They don’t take foam baths regularly but today is a special occasion, and Richie intends to pamper the one person who makes him the happiest. 

Eddie helps take Richie’s clothes off, finding the hem of his sweater and tugging it up his torso. Richie’s glasses become askew, earning a laugh out of them both. Eddie adjusts them, fingers brushing into his hair where he pats the disarrayed strands. It’s a helpless cause in the first place but Eddie seems incapable of not taming his appearance. Richie believes half the time Eddie does so is only because he wants to touch him and assert himself. 

“You’re so cute,” Eddie says and kisses the tip of Richie’s nose. 

He goes cross-eyed and warm and fuzzy, flushing. “Little old me? Nah.” 

Eddie sighs in dissatisfaction, “Remind me to teach you to accept a compliment every once in a while.” Then, he hooks a finger into the skirt waistline and Richie loses focus again. 

Words are a difficult feat. And Eddie crouches down while pulling off his skirt and stockings. His attention snaps to Richie’s dick. It’s hard not to stare when it’s directly staring into his face but Eddie makes a sound like a guttural growl. Like he needs Richie and is only holding himself back from devouring him. Eddie’s breath wafts at the tip, and Richie grows. But before Richie can get too excited, Eddie removes the gravity of his gaze downwards and ushers him to raise his feet to drag the clothes out. He drops them by the side of the bathroom floor where his clothes lie.

“Thank you for drawing the bath.” Eddie says lowly, words echoing off the tiles, “You always know what I need.”

He supposes there is one more quality of Eddie which has Richie smitten for him: acknowledge his good heart. Richie’s chest swells and Eddie takes his hand, guiding them slowly into the tub. The water sloshes as they move inside to opposite ends, laying back. The tub isn’t large so their knees knock together, settling into a position in which their legs knot and twine. 

“Fuck. This is...” Eddie has his eyes closed, resting his nape on the edge of the tub. He inhales deeply, breath coming out slow. 

Richie smiles, cupping his hand to the foamy water and raising it to his face. He blows and the foam floats in the air, iridescent in dim lights. A chunk lands on Eddie's arm. Richie leans forward, chin propped on Eddie’s knobby knee. One of his eyes peels open promptly along with a wriggle of his toes on Richie’s feet. It makes him giggle until Eddie reaches forward too, faces centimeters apart. His brown eyes are like chocolate and coffee dipped in milk. 

Richie tells him as such. Eddie snorts, “Poetic. Been taking lessons from Ben?” 

“On the down-low, yeah. Said I’m a prodigy.”

Eddie grabs foam and creates a mustache under Richie’s nose. “I bet you are.”

“Awesome. Do I look like Shakespeare?” He asks, perking up.

“No. Like Alan from  _ The Hangover _ .”

“‘Hey! There are skittles in there!’” He quotes from memory, quite proud of his impression. 

Eddie’s body shakes with laughter, water rippling. Richie smiles and kisses him. His lips are soft and Richie gets his hands into Eddie’s hair, massaging the scalp. They sigh in unison. He doesn’t protest like he normally would. Eddie understands Richie wants to do this for him, and return the favor for the number of times Eddie has in the past. Richie scrunches his fists gently and pulls from the base, utilizing Eddie’s method. Eddie, himself, has his hand resting on Richie’s calf and scratches ever so softly every once in a while. 

“So...how does it feel to be forty-one old man?” Richie teases, “Should I buy you reading glasses now?” He drops his hand between Eddie’s legs, “Take stock?” Eddie isn’t entirely hard but he twitches in Richie’s hand. 

Eddie hisses then grits out, “My dick is in perfect condition, jackass.” He smacks Richie’s wandering hand away, “And you’re older than me.” 

Richie boasts, high-pitched like Monica from  _ Friends _ , “I know!”

“You just wanted us to acknowledge that, didn’t you?”

“Correctamundo!” 

Eddie sighs and brings their hands together. He plays with Richie’s thumb, tracing the nail, brooding at whatever dark memory he’s residing on at the instance. 

“I don’t like to think of it often but I just...remembered my father.” Eddie’s biting the inside of his cheek, tension bleeding. Richie listens intently, stitching his eyebrows forward. “He was so young when he died...”

“You were three?” Richie asks, taking his stump into his hands and kneading into a knot of tension. 

Eddie nods, “He was twenty-seven.” The number falls heavy in the air, and it has their eyes lock. Richie stills, air trapped in his lung. “It’s why I’ve always hated that number. But now it’s worse. Either it’s the time or the battery percentage on my phone—I just hate it. Makes me—....makes my heart stop.” Eddie chokes out. 

Richie grasps his chin, forcing their eyes to meet, “Easy. Breathe.” Eddie nods and gulps, breath shaky when he inhales. “It’s the same for me too.” He ducks to his stump again, preoccupying his hands, “You know I throw up in my mouth whenever I get ticket number twenty-seven or go to counter number twenty-seven?—I’m the twenty-seventh performer at the club. It’s like a bad omen.” 

Eddie peers down at his pruned fingers, “It makes me sick that it’ll probably stick with us forever.” 

“Not forever.” Richie disagrees, “We have to be stronger, right? Or else it’ll be really fucking sad if we’re eighty and still afraid. It would be terrible for our weak hearts.” He says lightly, expelling the thick atmosphere.

Well, the thickness might just be from the steam. His glasses have fogged up at the corners too. 

Eddie applies his mouth to Richie’s temple and whispers, “I hope so.” 

It’s a prayer. 

They linger for a while more, skin wrinkly, foreshadowing their future and hitting close to home especially after they’d been discussing their ages. A grateful surge plows through him then. There isn’t a day that goes by in which Richie takes Eddie’s life for granted. He’d prayed in the church at the hospital. Richie wasn't religious and his parents weren’t ones to encourage such practices except maybe once in a while. But sitting in that hospital every single day for two months took it’s toll—in fact, Richie can safely say he’d lost his mind the second he remembered Pennywise. All events down in the sewer felt conjured out of a scene from a movie—a fever dream—maybe like _ Shutter Island _ and Richie remained in a shocked stance from the moment Eddie was stabbed until...fuck. Sometimes Richie still wakes up tied to that fear and after a couple of seconds, as his heart slows and clarity seeps in, he remembers Eddie’s alive. That  _ he’s _ alive and so are the rest. 

Richie recalls Eddie hiding his scars and his deformed ribs in the beginning. The portion on the right protrudes and the skin around it pinches upwards to the muscle of his shoulder and stump. Eddie used to hide his chest every chance he could, expression drawn with contempt and heartbreak. But how long could Eddie play hide-and-seek while Richie lived in that chair beside his bed? Richie and Eddie argued about it early on. He had had enough and he couldn’t stand to see Eddie fearing him of all people. Richie can’t remember anymore what he told Eddie, but a part of it must’ve made an impression because he became less cagey around him afterward. But he’d dare Richie almost; he’d sit there shirtless and just look at him for the tiniest sign of discomfort. Eddie had forgotten then, that Richie takes a challenge as well as Eddie can. Except, Eddie’s bravery in roaming around their house unclothed and shirtless comes as a privilege to only Richie. And as much as it is an ego-boost and a validating factor as to how much Eddie trusts him, Richie does wish he’d be less afraid of other’s perceptions. 

Eddie still despises swimming pools and beaches, and even if Richie is able to convince him, Eddie wears large shirts to cover himself up. All his videos are also done entirely clothed while Richie has a theory that the main motivation to grow his beard must have been to hide his cheek scar. Richie’s been growing his own too since then, figuring it’d be better if they were a team—as if they were participating in something random just for the fun of it. 

But it doesn’t come as a surprise that Richie likes touching Eddie. Half the time Richie likes to trace his scars in bed, and feel his heartbeat pick up beneath. He likes to feel his ribs and the bumps like sand dunes or hills on his chest, exploring him the same way Eddie likes to hold Richie. But whereas Richie is playful, Eddie is vaguely impatient yet so fucking slow as if he wants to just enjoy Richie without the intention of it leading anywhere sexual. He’d palm Richie’s chest and smooth down the hair coated there, swirl his hot tongue around his nipple and crawl downwards, nipping at his waist. Sometimes Eddie would blow into Richie’s bellybutton if he wants him to relax and other times, he would rub down his hairy thigh, fold Richie’s knees up beside his ear for ease in placing wet kisses near his ass. Eddie enjoys leaving hickeys on the flesh in that area, and teeth grazing at his perineum with the lightest grace but having Richie shoot off the bed due it being the most sensitive part of his body. 

Which is only an extra win for Eddie who looks more like a predator at that moment, so far gone and delighted at reducing Richie into a sobbing mess. It’s practically his favorite hobby and so, Richie shouldn’t be as shocked as he is to find Eddie delicately running his hands to the thick flesh of his lap. 

Richie gasps and Eddie licks his lips, wetting them until they’re shiny and pink. He both hates and adores how leveled Eddie’s voice is when he speaks, hidden with darker undertones. “You don’t have any meetings today, right?” 

He removes his hand and returns it only to rub his thumb at Richie’s tip. The water crashes out when a flare of burning need brings him to life, and he winds up jerking his leg. “ _ Mmph! _ ”

“Easy...shhh,” Eddie wraps his fist around him, mouth coy but gentle enough as he meets his eyes. 

Richie scrambles, “But—” His protest dies on his lips when Eddie tightens his hold, slowly jerking him. 

“It’s okay. Let me take care of you now. You’ve been good today, haven’t you? So patient for me.” Richie whines, nodding as his head lolls back on instinct.

He slides further down, spreading his legs. At the back of his mind, Richie acknowledges his reasoning behind this. Eddie likes control—especially when his life is spiraling but this is different. He’s taking his time and making it good for Richie, so they both win in this situation. Richie laughs internally, unable to emit the sound as he thinks,  _ I got him to touch my wood _ .

“Now answer the question for me, sweetheart.” 

“Hmm?” He chews his teeth into his lip, fingers gripping the edge of the tub as an anchor. Richie’s floating in clouds, spiraling between heaven and earth. 

“Meetings today or not?” 

Richie shook his head hastily, “N-no. Canceled them. I’m all y-yours.” 

“Hmm,” Eddie replies, pleased. Eddie wrings his dick upwards and it’s maddening—fuck. “Remind me to send Sandra a fruit basket. She’s much better than that other manager. What was his name again?” 

Through the haze of fog, Richie sputters a chalky laugh, “Oh, don’t pretend to f-forget— _ shit! _ —” He bucks into Eddie’s smaller hand as he speeds up ruthlessly. This only makes Richie want to be bad because it always drives Eddie a little crazy when he’s annoying during sex. “C-can’t believe you used to be jealous of  _ Steve _ —”

Eddie stops jerking and Richie brokenly sobs, all the blood pumping downwards so fast he thinks he’ll pop a vessel. “Don’t  _ actually _ fucking say his name while I’ve got my hand on your dick.” 

“I’m s-sorry—” He inhales a gulp of air, “Just find it funny because I only want you. Just you.” 

Eddie moves up and down, savoring the muscle, “That’s right.” He wonders if he wins a point because Eddie sounds affected. 

“But don’t think I’m n-not on to you—” Richie struggles to tease, “You only like her because she’s a non-threat.” Eddie switches gears and lowers his fingers to Richie’s rim, massaging around the tight ring. He feels so fucking hot, skin melting from the warm water, exclaiming.

Eddie huffs—always amused—and bites the skin on Richie’s splotchy neck as he angles back to give him more access. “Yeah. You’re right. But also because she showed me her color-coded work binder that one time and I nearly proposed to her by plucking a strand of my hair out to use as a ring.” He admits.

Richie’s eyes water at the sudden breach of his finger thrusting inside, “I’m just l-letting you know right now that if you proposed to me the same way, I-I’d— _ mmm _ —hundred percent say yes. Guaranteed—Fuck, that’s so good.” His words muffle, arching into the curl of Eddie’s finger deep inside. 

Eddie brushes his prostrate, little fireworks sparking in his groin. Richie’s been on edge the entire night and he  _ really needed _ this—but when does he not? It feels as if he’s living on the peak of a roller coaster at all times, stomach swooping before the drop.

Eddie grins toothily, “Sure you aren’t just saying that because I’m fucking you with my fingers and you’re taking me so well?” He slips another in—and  _ holy shit _ . Usually, it isn’t an easy feat without lube but Richie is pretty fucking desperate and his body is taking the phrase ‘get with the program’ real serious. 

“Yeah. You’re fucking me real good b-but,” He swallows thickly, red-faced and stuttering like Big Bill—and he decides to shut that thought down _ ASAP _ . “I’m also n-not forgetting the fact that you’re a huge nerd. Fucking color-coded binders do it for you, huh?” 

“You do realize I have years worth of blackmail material, right?”

“Damn. You’re right. I am way more embarrassing t-than you.” 

Eddie’s finally stopped being a tease and rubs at his prostate, massaging expertly. “You’re a fucking hazard to society. You choked on a grape the other day.”

His vision spots white, “G-good thing I had my p-prince charming, eh?” 

Eddie laughs and because he’s amazing at multi-tasking, he’s still able to push a third finger in like he just can’t help it, “Jesus Christ, you really want to be a princess, don’t you?” 

Richie bears down at the increasing pressure. It’s so fucking good, he could die from this alone, “You can like, charm my pants off any day.” He tries his hand at a wink but fails spectacularly, earning another laugh from Eddie.

His expression swirls in sincerity and adoration, “Never change, Richie. Never change.” 

Well. When he asked so nicely, how could Richie ever refuse?

An uncontrollable sniffle forces past his lips, toes curling, overwhelmed with positive emotions. It’s all too much and Eddie tells him all the time how good he is even as Richie doesn’t like to believe it but. Eddie loves him. And the idea of Eddie not being able to grasp that Richie loved  _ him _ , spurs the feeling of acceptance. Richie believes him this time. And it feels too good. It builds and builds and they’re moving in synchrony, gently rocking and Richie just knows Eddie will later rant about water getting on the floor but for now. They only exist. 

Richie’s orgasm slams with full-force, moaning throughout however long it goes on for. He keens helplessly, tears falling as the muscle below absorbs Eddie’s fingers smoothly, because he keeps wanting more even when it hurts. Richie’s shaking and he dimly registers Eddie slipping his fingers out, asshole clenching around air. Richie sags, going lax after all the pent-up sexual frustration. His cock spills liquid into the tub, mixing with the water.

Then he presses forward quickly to kiss Eddie, groaning against his mouth, “Do I need to?—”

“Mmm, no. This was all about you.” Eddie brushes his thumb on his jaw, prickling stubble, “Besides, we have the rest of the day...” He promises.

Richie shivers and leans forward to chase his mouth again. Eddie smirks, “So eager, aren’t we?” 

“For my little Spaghetti? Of course!” He juts his lower lip out, “But I can barely move. I feel like a fish or a noodle.”

Eddie scoffs rudely, “If you think you’re getting out of brushing your teeth before bed, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

Richie chuckles softly, kissing his small scowl away, “Alright, alright.” He surrenders.

Eddie reaches for the towel as they stand up. The material is of Pima cotton; one of the softest, and Richie had rolled his eyes in the beginning. (Eddie is a bit spoiled) but Richie can attest that it’s heavenly. Especially when Eddie scrubs him, rubbing the towel at his chest hair and drying him down to his toes. Richie feels small. Like a baby. 

He follows the same steps for Eddie and takes extra care to his thighs, shooting him a raunchy wink when Eddie huffs at him to hurry the fuck up. Richie kisses his lower stomach and let's go. Now, completely dry, they pad to the sink. Eddie yawns, feeling his own yawn itch onto his mouth while he spreads toothpaste on their toothbrushes. Richie can tell Eddie’s ticking off a mental checklist for he has a glazed look in his eyes and he’s brushing strenuously. Unfortunately—and fortunately depending on how one looks at it—it’s also extremely distracting for it causes his dick to bob between his legs. Richie spits into the basin, thrusting his gaze away before he goes and eats a door. He feels a bit like Eddie. Frantic. Minty fresh breath prickles inside his mouth. 

Eddie moves to the rack filled with lotions. Richie hasn’t bothered to read what any of them are for; only that Eddie’s nighttime routine consists of utilizing them, one per night, and usually, this also means he lathers Richie up as well. But any chance for Eddie to get his hands on him is a good reason to allow it. Plus, they smell the same in the end. It’s intoxicating. 

Silently, Eddie squirts cream into his palm and rubs it between his fingers like he does with lube. “Give me your arm.” Richie does. Eddie scolds, “Look. This is why I tell you not to wear polyester. Gives you rashes.” He winces and grumbles, rubbing into his elbow pits where the skin is red and bumpy. 

“It was worth it.” 

Eddie doesn’t reply but his scowl says a thousand words. “Come on, do me.” 

“My, my. Shortstack wants the  _ d _ up his  _ a _ , huh? A little switcheroo?” 

“How old are you again?” Eddie asks voice leveled as he hands him a different cream. It’s shea butter. 

“Fourteen if we switch the numbers around.” He rubs the cream between his hands like a villain.

“Yeah, that’s about right.” 

Richie really gets into it, compelled by tanned and freckled skin. Soft and warm to the touch from their bath. He applies a medicinal cream at the end of Eddie’s stump as well; if he doesn’t take good care, the skin can get irritated. Richie then washes his hands, laughing when he playfully sprinkles water at Eddie’s unamused face. The room itself is a bit cool from the AC and they shiver from the stark contrasting humidity of their bathroom. Eddie rummages through the drawer to find their boxers; both are checkered. If Richie were to choose, they would have gone with the sausage patterned pair instead. 

“Well played, Mr. Kaspbrak.” Eddie draws a crooked smirk in response.

He crouches to put them on and Richie’s stomach twists for a hot second as he remembers, nerves bundling, “Hey, I got you something.” 

Eddie frowns in curiosity as Richie searches behind the bed for a bag. “Birthday present?”

“Doesn’t have to be.” Richie responds and bites his lip, pulse-quickening. 

This would be the first time they’re celebrating a birthday properly since Derry. Eddie could barely walk this time last year and Richie’s birthday went by uneventful because they both hadn’t been in the celebratory mood. Richie prefers not to celebrate his birthday anyway and even as kids, he’d squirm under the spotlight, touched if others wished him a good one. Even from the Losers, Richie wouldn’t expect much, except, every year they’d gather at the barrens or in their clubhouse and shoot the shit. They’d spend evenings out in the quarry, sunbathing and later smoke weed Bev seemed to acquire mysteriously. Eddie would hate it, lecturing them for hours on end, and watch with dropped jaws when Stan participated. (If only Eddie knew Stan smoked as much as Bev and Richie did.) 

All in all, their birthdays were spent similarly. Not much to do in a small town, but they made the most of it. And although Richie genuinely didn’t like a fuss, Eddie would be the opposite. He’d pretend it wouldn’t matter but if Richie’s ever seen an attention-seeker, it would hands-down be him. (Once again: Eddie is majorly spoiled.) As kids, Bill forgot Eddie’s present at home and Eddie didn’t let him forget for months, being a little passive-aggressive bitch. Richie still finds it hilarious. But Eddie isn’t so much the same anymore—and it makes sense for he had been immature and younger. So, it wouldn’t really matter except...Richie feels seventeen all over again, blushing as he hands Eddie a mixtape he’d scoured for months to make. 

Richie folds his legs under him on the bed and so does Eddie who tentatively pulls the gift out. Richie pinches his mouth, playing with the flesh while Eddie’s expression morphs into glee, sputtering a laugh, “Rich—” He holds the shirt up, tears in his eyes from laughter, “I can’t believe you.” Eddie chokes, thumbing the material fondly.

“Do you like it?” He has no clue his heart had stopped beating until Eddie responded. 

“I fucking love it and I fucking love you even though this is so stupid.” He lowers the shirt, peering tenderly with soft dimples and eyes shining. 

Richie can breathe again. 

“I got us both the same.” He replies, watching carefully at Eddie who traces the cartoon peas and carrots, spread across the fabric. 

“Did you get these custom-made?” 

“I had Sandra find someone.” He admits, twiddling his thumbs. Eddie raises an eyebrow, and Richie explains, “She stopped questioning me a long time ago.”

He’s navigating a path from his face to his chest in a way that has Richie blush, “Now we’ve  _ really _ got to invite her over for dinner.” 

Richie swallows thickly, then grabs Eddie’s hand to kiss his knuckles, earning a sappy smile. 

“I’ll put them in the laundry later.” He explains, balling them up into the bag again. 

Richie expected as such. “Yeah, a-alright.” 

Eddie places the bag on the floor beside the bed and turns around to Richie who’s splayed out, propping his body up on his elbow. Eddie bites his lip and crawls over to him. They breathe on each other’s faces, vulnerable and open.  _ No hiding _ . 

He just watches. And Richie reaches up to graze his knuckle at Eddie’s bulging bicep, “Hey there, handsome. What brings you to this barren land?” 

Eddie says, lips touching his, “A six-foot-one man with sexy shoulders, cute bucked teeth,” He prods at them briefly, making Richie smile wider, “bony feet and hairy legs. The softest hair imaginable...The love of my life. My princess.” He adds at the end intentionally.

Richie barks out, laughing, “Oh, fuck you.” He giggles some more when Eddie kisses a trail down his jaw and neck, licking a stripe at his nape.

“I love you, Richie Tozier.” He professes into his ear. 

Richie shivers. A burn in his throat follows by the burn behind his eyes. “Happy birthday, Eddie. I love you so much.”

Eddie takes his glasses off for him, slowly folding them and placing them on the bedside table. He gathers them under the blankets as if to create a fort around them—like a burrito. The world is quiet. It’s as if they’re the only ones who exist. And they move on instinct, meeting halfway to kiss desperately. Eddie kisses competitively like their mouths are fighting. But this is sweeter and thorough like honey. Like he’s conveying and pouring all of his love with the sweep of his tongue. Richie inhales them in, giddy and lightheaded. Eddie breaks first but goes in for another. And another. Richie smiles and Eddie ends up kissing his overbite. 

Eddie doesn’t mind. 

“I’m sorry I don’t say it enough but I love you.” 

A broken sort of sound releases past his mouth as he shakes his head, “Oh, no, baby...” Richie reassures his doubts with a bruising kiss, “I know. It’s alright.” 

“You deserve to be told every day— _ more _ than once in a day. You’re perfect.” 

Richie wants to argue, a dark ugly entity climbing up his esophagus. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs. “ _ You’re _ perfect—” Richie presses a finger to Eddie’s parting lips, stern, “Shush. Just let it be. Yeah?” 

Slowly, Eddie nods. 

Richie turns over then and Eddie gets the idea, spooning him with his one arm tightly secured on his chest ( _ tits, _ Eddie insists), and groans from deep within, body pulsating. Richie finds it adorably endearing. Eddie is like a cat.

“Goodnight, Rich.” He whispers drowsily.

“Morning actually.” He points out, fighting sleep already even as Eddie’s crotch is glued to his ass. 

He stops, realizing he’s right, “Hmm...yeah. Good morning, honey.” The bath must’ve done some good for he’s completely putty behind him. 

Richie hums, snuggling in his embrace, “Good morning, Eds.” 

Eddie digs his nose deeper into the crook of Richie’s neck, breathing slower. He pecks behind his ears twice, hard presses of his mouth that prompt giggles out of Richie. 

His cheeks hurt from the stretch of his smile and soon, he’s off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> You all know by now but the title is taken from Forrest Gump. It's one of my favorite movies of all time, and this is me projecting on my babies.  
> One more thing, shower sex can be quite dangerous especially when soap or any bath products are involved. So, please keep in mind that this fic requires suspension of disbelief. 
> 
> Come be my friend on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yippee_ki_ya) if you'd like 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think :)


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